


I have seafoam in my veins, for I understand the language of the waves

by cydonic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/F, Female Friendship, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: Kink meme fill: The Inquisition ambassador catches the eye of the pirate queen Isabela.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic spiralled from a quick kink meme fill into 17k words of Josephine/Isabela, which has very quickly become my DA OTP. I've loved writing these two but it's also my first time with either of them, so please let me know if there are any characterisation errors. As always, comments are very appreciated. ☺ I'm always accepting prompts so if you have an idea you'd like to see written, let me know!

It is not rare for Skyhold to receive visitors from the Waking Sea. There stands a well-worn path from the port to the Frostback Mountains, at which point visitors must produce evidence of their welcome or be turned away by guards. What _was_ rare were people who would take the path without invitation, and in that case word would be sent to Skyhold to request entrance.

Josephine was met by a scout that morning in her office, the tea leaves still steeping in the pot on her desk. “Ambassador, a visitor requests safe passage to Skyhold.” The poor woman was out of breath, clearly having hurried through the early morning hours to reach her in time. The ride up to Skyhold from their first base was at least an hour, depending on the freshness of the mount. “Admiral Isabela of the Siren’s Call II and her crew, a friend of Serah Hawke.”

The name was unfamiliar, however Josephine had yet to interact with Hawke in any manner beyond a polite greeting at her initial arrival. It did seem strange for someone to seek Hawke by name, especially since few knew the Champion was even alive – let alone with the Inquisition. “You’d best ask Hawke. If she approves, then they are welcome.” Josephine responded carefully, making a note on a small cut-off piece of parchment to prepare a room – just in case.

“Of course, Ambassador,” the scout bowed low to the ground before retreating, leaving Josephine to her tea and her work. She had much to do now that another band of nobles in Orlais had started up, spreading some rumour or other about the Inquisitor.

Another day, another elaborate tale of murder, sexuality, and betrayal to quell.

\---

The fire lighting the hearth and the candles on Josephine’s desk nearly distracted her from the setting sun. It was, in all honesty, how Josephine so often worked late into the night. One moment the sun would be high in the sky – three carefully penned letters later, and all would be asleep.

On this particular night, Josephine suspected it was not her own awareness but the noise from outside that drew her attention from her work. She delicately folded up her last piece of correspondence for the evening, addressing the envelope before placing it to the side. There was more she could do for the evening; however her attention was piqued. The most raucous celebrations came at Lavellan’s arrival or departure, and the Inquisitor had been at base for a whole week now – without any plans to leave for another two days. So unless there was a special event they had neglected to inform Josephine of, this was an anomaly.

Josephine dedicated some time to neatening up her desk and extinguishing all flames in her room, before making her way out into the night. As soon as she left the hall it was evident that the noise was indeed coming from the tavern, numerous bodies blocking the firelight from shining out the windows as brightly as normal.

It was not an unusual occurrence for Josephine to be in the tavern, but she often excused herself early in the evening. A glass of Antivan wine was enough for her – she didn’t partake in the wild, all-night benders some of the others were fond of.

When she ducked inside the Herald’s Rest, Josephine was nearly felled by a body stumbling back into the wall.

“Goodness me!” Josephine exclaimed, watching the unknown woman right herself, before charging back into the heart of the room again.

It was an entirely surreal experience. What Josephine initially assumed was a barroom brawl turned out to be harmless. The woman leapt onto a bench (with surprisingly steady feet considering the heel on her boot), clasped hands with the Iron Bull, and proceeded to flip herself over his extended arm. She landed, crouched, with a thud on the other side of the bench, cursing loudly as the Chargers laughed and jeered.

“Ambassador!” Beckoned Bull with a hand, now freed from the woman who was gathering herself once more on the bench. “Come in, sit with us!”

Josephine’s mind was pulled back to reality, back to the fact that she was still standing in the open doorway, and she brushed her skirt off to cover how she started at the sudden attention. “Of course,” Josephine replied delicately, coming to sit at the table that had moments earlier been home to a running woman.

“I’ve beaten Qunari with it before,” said woman was in the midst of explaining as she ran a hand through her hair, sticking out from under her bandanna at odd angles.

Bull was signalling to the barkeep with one hand, whilst chuckling at the debate going on between himself and the stranger. “I’m sure you have,” he placated before turning his attention back to Josephine, “have you met our new guest?”

“I don’t believe so,” Josephine turned on the bench, sliding close enough to the woman to offer her a hand, “Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquistion.” The introduction worked like clockwork – Josephine had introduced herself to so many people at this point that she could say it in her sleep (and possibly already did).

Josephine watched as the woman’s eyes widened, a smile spanning ear-to-ear rising. “A Montilyet, my, the fates have been good to me. I’ve heard stories of your glory days, a fleet like that would’ve been a sight to see!”

There was a moment in which they both sat, looking at each other, Josephine’s hand hovering in mid-air. She didn’t quite know what to do – she was surprisingly flattered that someone knew of her family name, and not for their current, repairing status but for their previous success. Before she had a moment to construct an appropriate response, the woman took her hand and pressed a delicate kiss to its top, sparkling brown eyes not leaving hers for a second.

“I’m Isabela, I sail with the Raiders.”

Josephine felt a blush heating up her cheeks, could sense the eyes of all the people at their table – Bull, the Chargers, companions of the Inquisitor – on her. “It’s a pleasure, Lady Isabela.”

“Lady Montilyet, the pleasure is all mine,” was the reply, with so much sincerity that Josephine believed Isabela meant it. “Now, what is it you drink? We have much to discuss.”

\---

What started at a glass of wine and a discussion about her family spiralled out of control. It was as if the room was reduced to her and Isabela: Josephine could see nothing but warm eyes and a contagious smile, accented with glittering gold and an enchanting laugh.

“I do not mind Skyhold, but I miss Antiva sometimes,” Josephine sighed wistfully, “from our family’s estate you can hear the waves, smell the ocean – it’s just so – I don’t even know the word for it,” she waved her hand in the air, wine-heavy tongue struggling to find the word it longed for.

Isabela’s leg was a constant pressure against her thigh, the pair of them turned so no one could intrude. “It’s home,” she supplied quietly, and though it wasn’t exactly what Josephine wanted, it captured the meaning of it.

Perhaps it was better than the unknown word, still floating untamed in her mind. “It’s home. So I’ll be rather thankful when we can leave this snowy place behind and go down to the water again.”

When Josephine looked up, she realised they were the only ones left behind in the tavern. Bull and the Chargers had long-since departed, and she felt as though she’d just jumped into the ocean: cold and sharply aware.

“I apologise, the time seems to have gotten away from us. I trust your crew have made it to their lodgings, I shall walk you to the guest quarters – this place can be something of a maze at night,” Josephine hurried to stand, and thankfully managed not to stumble as the warmth of the wine raced to her head.

Isabela stood up too, appearing as steady as always, even though she’d matched Josephine glass for glass – and had been drunk enough at Josephine’s arrival anyway. “I think I’d rather see your lodgings, Josephine,” she responded with a wicked grin.

“Oh – _oh_ ,” there was that blush again. Josephine stumbled as she navigated her way through the tavern, but Isabela’s hand was warm against the small of her back.

The steadying hand remained the walk back to Isabela’s room, and Josephine could not deny that she welcomed it. How Isabela was not freezing was a surprise to her: the woman wore a long white tunic, and little else. As they walked, she filled the silence with a story of the last time she’d been in Antiva City, and the trouble she’d gotten up to – a common element in many of Isabela’s tales.

They were stood outside Isabela’s room before Josephine knew it, and she was suddenly unable to make eye contact. “I trust I will see you at breakfast tomorrow, Isabela?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Isabela offered, a hand sliding to settle on Josephine’s waist.

Josephine felt her breath catch in her throat. “I – honestly, no.” She admitted to the floor.

Isabela was in her space in a heartbeat, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to Josephine’s warm cheek. “Goodnight, Lady Montilyet. I will see you at breakfast.”

By the time Josephine could breathe and walk again, Isabela was gone and the door was latched. She walked back to her own quarters feeling very confused, but undeniably excited for breakfast the next day.

\---

Josephine awoke, tired and somewhat poorly, but followed her usual morning routine to the letter: bathe, dress, breakfast. Through every motion she couldn’t shake thought of Isabela from her mind, which was infinitely frustrating given the work Josephine had to do that day.

By the time Josephine was heading downstairs to the great hall she was feeling significantly better, though the queasiness had been replaced by anxious butterflies. Was the previous night nothing but a drunken flash of interest, to be forgotten come morning? There was only one way to know.

Josephine tried not to look too obvious as she scanned the room, people coming and going according to their varying schedules. Leliana was seated at the head of one of the tables, eating a bowl of cut fruit, delivered the previous day from Orlais where the temperature was considerably nicer than the constant-cold of Skyhold.

“Are you looking for somebody?” Leliana asked, eyes focused on each hunk of fruit just before it was speared and consumed.

“What? No, of course not,” Josephine replied, flustered. In her hands she’d grabbed the first thing she could see: a hunk of fresh, warm bread, and fruit preserve. It could be worse.

Leliana did not have her reputation for no reason. “You were at the tavern late last night,” she observed, turning to pin Josephine with a curious smile that held the promise of bodily harm should the answer displease her.

“Oh, yes, I was with Lady Isabela – Hawke’s friend, the one who arrived yesterday?”

Leliana’s face did something strange – it was almost a smile. “We met once, back during the Blight. She’s an interesting woman.”

Josephine laughed a little, making a note to ask Leliana more about Isabela later. It would be rude to do so when the woman in question was just dropping into the chair beside Josephine, after all.

“Good morning, Lady Montilyet,” Isabela sounded too fresh for the night they’d had, though the dark circles beneath her eyes didn’t appear to be entirely covered.

“Good morning, Isabela,” Josephine replied, willing the blush to leave her cheeks. She was no virginal Chantry sister – she’d been involved in all manner of flirting in the Orlesian court, this was not new to her. Yet she couldn’t slow her heart, couldn’t lessen her smile – or perhaps it was that she didn’t want to.

“Isabela, it’s been quite some time,” Leliana began, as Josephine watched Isabela’s eyes flickering, trying to put a name to the face.

“Wait,” Isabela held up a hand, mouth opening several times with an incorrect answer, “Denerim? Yes, Denerim! There was you, and that witch and – oh, yes, that was the night with the King and Queen, that’s what they are now, right?” Josephine was completely lost, but Isabela had kicked her chair back on its hind two legs and was laughing in between comments and even Leliana was smiling. “Well, look at where you ended up! I never would’ve pinned you’d wind up in the middle of the mountains like this.”

Leliana offered a one-shouldered shrug, mysterious as always. “We only met that one night, I’d hardly imagine you’d know my life from that.”

“I got a good inkling of it,” Isabela beamed, “and I got to know a whole lot about those royals then in one night. You could almost call it my talent.”

“Though not your only one, I’m sure,” Leliana remarked, gathering up her empty bowl and rising, “enjoy your morning – Josephine, if we might speak later?”

“Of course,” Josephine answered, removing her attention from Isabela long enough to bid Leliana farewell.

“This looks good,” Isabela said, gesturing at the spread she’d received - oatmeal topped with honey and fruit, “so does yours, actually. If I’d known Hawke was getting fed like this, I’d ’ve shown up sooner.”

Josephine laughed, immediately enthralled, pulled into Isabela’s orbit once more. “If I’d known you sooner, I would have insisted Hawke invite you weeks ago.”

Isabela looked genuinely happy, her smile shifting from teasing to surprised. “If I’d known you sooner, I don’t think I could’ve stayed away.”

With the finesse of a teenager, Josephine readjusted herself in her chair, calf bumping up against Isabela’s. “I trust your quarters were to your liking?”

“I’ve slept in far worse places, Lady Montilyet, believe me,” Isabela responded in turn, capturing Josephine’s right leg between her two, “I still maintain that I would like to see your quarters, but that might have to wait until next time.”

“Oh?” Josephine asked, head tilting to the side as she twisted an ankle around one of Isabela’s, succeeding in pulling their chairs closer together. She was sure they were being entirely obvious, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

“Yeah, we –”

“- Isabela? Who let you in?” Varric called, dropping down into a chair opposite the two of them, followed closely by Hawke.

Josephine made a strangled noise, cheeks heating further as she tried to retrieve her leg. Isabela was entirely impossible and refused to let her go. “Now, that’s just rude. I saved your ass at least a hundred times, and this is how you treat me?”

“I mean, in between all the betrayal and theft you were alright, I suppose,” Hawke chimed in, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Josephine felt like she was watching the conversation happen without her, but it wasn’t bad. It was like seeing another side of Isabela, experiencing her around people she’d known much longer than Josephine – though to be fair, Isabela had known Bull longer than Josephine, so that didn’t count for much.

“You know what, you guys are just gonna have to hold off on the ‘being shits to me’ thing because we’re getting ready to head back out to sea.”

“What?” Josephine interjected, speaking up for the first time since Varric and Hawke had joined them.

“Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say before these assholes interrupted,” Isabela’s look of faux-irritation faded when she turned to face Josephine, replaced with a tender smile. “Jeez, you’re making me feel bad – you look like I just kicked your cat.”

“What – I don’t have a cat,” was all Josephine could think to say, brows knitted together.

Isabela smirked and patted Josephine’s cheek. “Of course you don’t. Anyway, I’m going to load up on some more good food before we’re stuck on a boat for weeks – Hawke, you should’ve told me sooner about all this deliciousness you’re surrounded with, you’re so selfish.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and remarked, “look who’s talking,” but Isabela was long gone, leaving Josephine feeling ridiculously cold.

“Ambassador?” Josephine had been busy staring at Isabela’s empty chair, when Hawke interrupted her thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry – I was just thinking,” she mumbled back.

Hawke smiled at her, which was somewhat strange as they really didn’t know each other at all. “The thing with Isabela is that she always comes back when there’s something to come back for.”

“I – don’t know what you mean.”

“Course you don’t, Ruffles,” Varric replied with a laugh, and then Isabela was sliding back into her seat and making jokes and trying to capture Josephine’s leg once more and it was good.

\---

“Lady Montilyet?”

It was mid-afternoon and the clouds had rolled in early, blocking the natural light from entering Josephine’s office. She’d gotten herself lost in contracts, reading and re-reading, trying to find any loopholes or catches that could pose a risk to them. At Isabela’s voice her head popped up, and she pushed a loose chunk of hair back behind her ear. “Just Josephine is fine, Isabela.”

“There are many things I’d rather call you, but I think I’d need to earn them,” Isabela remarked as she crossed the room, coming to lean against Josephine’s desk, bare thighs a mere whisper from Josephine’s hands. “I came to say goodbye – for now.”

Isabela at least had the decency to look sad, even as she leaned down to bring their faces together, breath mingling between them. “You’ll write,” Josephine said, eyes closed, as she joined the space between them with her lips.

The kiss was no deeper than their first, lips together with a bare amount of pressure. Isabela was the first to pull back. “I’m not much a writer but I’ll give it my best shot.”

“And you’ll come back soon?”

“As soon as I can.”

\---

Isabela sent letters from an assortment of port cities along the East Coast. Josephine didn’t know what Leliana had done, but it was her agents who ensured their correspondence was conducted as frequently as physically possible.

Josephine often felt ridiculous, agonising for hours over what to say to the woman who had quite ridiculously won her over within a day of meeting. Her letters ranged in lengths, but were never below three pages. Isabela was spontaneous – at times she wrote near-novels, detailing every single moment of her time at sea (the salt spray, the movement of the waves, the joy of seeing the port closer and the days spent wandering and trading and absorbing the still, solid land before moving again), at others she wrote a few sentences and sent it away.

Leliana said very little of Josephine’s letters, urging her only once to “be careful” and leaving it at that. Josephine was thankful to have someone so caring by her side, but she was no innocent in love. As a bard Josephine had been expected to charm and delight, to make people love her in a moment. As a player in the Game, she had been expected to do even more – to make people who despised each other love her and divulge to her their secrets. Love as a concept, love as a tool, love as a means to an end: Josephine had mastered that art, wielded it in every written word and careful speech.

But love as something uncontrolled and wild, as untameable as the ocean itself, that was – different.

Josephine had removed herself from her office to make use of the uncharacteristic sunshine of the day. She curled up on a bench in the garden, paper, quill, and candle all resting in their place on her board. The work before her was not Inquisition work, but for her family. They’d been re-establishing themselves in a greater capacity now that their trading ban had been lifted in Orlais, and they were in need of another ship to add to their fleet. She’d written to Isabela about it for her thoughts, and received back a letter that demanded she go to one man alone – _“best ships in Thedas, I could run her aground and keep going”_ – so now all that remained was to haggle and get said ships into the Montilyet fleet.

“Got you something.”

Josephine jumped at the sudden voice, melted wax sliding out of its holder and splashing onto her hand. The parchment was definitely ruined, but all Josephine could think about was her hand, which she gingerly clasped as she turned around.

“Shit, _shit_ , I’m so sorry – I was going to surprise you, I didn’t mean,” Isabela was wide-eyed and talking, words washing over Josephine.

Isabela had said she wouldn’t be back for another week at best. Josephine felt tears well in her eyes, in part due to the burn on her hand but also because she didn’t know what to do. Isabela was back, holding a box awkwardly in one hand as she came closer.

There was another one of those impossibly long moments where they simply stared at one another – Isabela’s word trailing off into nothingness, Josephine still blankly staring at her – and then –

“You’re back,” Josephine said, throwing her arms around Isabela and holding her close, inhaling her scent of sweat and sea salt.

“Yeah, but my surprise wasn’t very good.” Isabela mumbled against her ear, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Josephine sighed and sagged in Isabela’s arms and wondered for a brief moment if maybe Leliana was right. Maybe she was in over her head because she couldn’t stop thinking about Isabela when she was away, and now she felt so at ease it was terrifying in a way.

When they parted, Isabela pressed the small gift box into Josephine’s hand. “We just came back from Val Royeaux, I thought you might like it.”

Josephine ignored the throbbing in her hand to undo the lopsided ribbon, opening the box to reveal a thick gold chain with an engraved gold disk in the centre. One side displayed a ship on the waves, the other had eight words: _‘from sea to shore, we tame the waves’_.

Her family crest, thought to be lost forever. “Where did – _how_ did you find this?” Josephine asked, rubbing her hand over the engraving, eyes wide.

Isabela shrugged. “I know people. Mentioned your name, they said they might know a guy who might know something about it.”

“I love it,” Josephine said breathlessly, lifting it from the silk-lined jewellery box. Isabela took it from between her fingers and wrapped it around her neck, clasping it together. “Thank you, Isabela.”

“You’re most welcome, Lady Montilyet.” Isabela took their moment of closeness to press a kiss to Josephine’s cheek, just to the left of her nose. Josephine’s scrunched up a little on instinct. “Now, let me see that hand.”

\---

Once again, Isabela’s visit was not going to be long. “A night, maybe two, we’ve got some ships we’re keeping an eye on.” Isabela explained in the tavern that night, this time at a table that had room for only the two of them.

Bull and the Chargers continued to look at them, eyebrows raised and money changing hands. Josephine wanted to have some choice words with them, but decided otherwise. Let them have their fun – she was having hers.

“I certainly hope that none with the Montilyet name are in your sights,” Josephine replied playfully, hand reaching up to toy with the heavy gold disc that sat against her chest. It blended in with the gold silk of her blouse, but she felt it as if it burned a brand against her skin. It was – oddly thoughtful.

Isabela laughed, head tipped back, wild like the ocean. “There’s only one Montilyet in my sights and it’s not a boat, Josie.”

Josephine was getting rather sick of this blushing business. She couldn’t help it – flirting in court she knew was all for show, and coped with it as any other ministration of the Game. This, just as everything Isabela had shown her thus far, was unpredictable.

At times Josephine couldn’t shake the notion that she was being toyed with – she the mouse, Isabela the housecat.

“What happened between you and Hawke?” Josephine asked, breaking the easy silence that had settled over them. She’d heard mention of something – betrayal or theft – from Hawke herself, and though both parties seemed to have resolved the issue, she still wanted to know.

Isabela fidgeted uncomfortable, one foot stilling against Josephine’s ankle. Isabela did rather enjoy these decidedly unsubtle gestures of interest. Her eyes dropped. “I – uh – I feel I should let you know that I’ve grown as a person since this, because it’s hardly my finest moment,” Isabela looked guiltily up, and then her gaze fell again, “I stole a Qunari relic – some book, they really liked it for some reason – and, uh, got it stolen off me in Kirkwall. That’s when I met Hawke. I tricked her into helping me get it back, because while she was busy saving my ass I ran off with it. But I came back! And I gave it back! And Hawke could’ve given me over to the Arishok but she didn’t, she duelled to save me, and, well,” Isabela reached a hand back, scratched the back of her neck, “she’s a better person than I am, by miles.”

Josephine took the whole story in, absorbing every detail: Isabela’s obvious regret, her honesty, her assurance that she’d changed. “You’re still a pirate.”

Isabela looked uncertain, resting an elbow on the tabletop and then cupping her cheek. “Yeah, I am. But it’s all I’ve ever known, I don’t know if I could be more.”

Josephine reached a hand across the table, gently brushing her fingers against Isabela’s hand. Her chin nearly fell from her palm as her hand moved, eagerly clasping Josephine’s fingers. “We’d have you, you know,” Josephine offered, smiling tightly.

With a sigh, Isabela eventually replaced her look of worry with a smile of her own, “I… I’ve thought about it, but the sea… it’s my home.”

And that was something Josephine could relate to, cooped up in the mountain when her body longed to feel the salt and the sand. “Until then I’ll just have to do with seeing you when you have time for me,” Josephine teased, and Isabela nudged her with a free hand.

“Now that’s a low blow, Lady Montilyet.”

“Do you have time for me now?” Josephine asked, feigning petulance, turning her head to the side and gazing out the window.

Isabela’s fingers left her own, and if Josephine had not been convinced it was a joke she would have been offended. Instead she found her cheeks cupped between Isabela’s hands, her face gently turned to take a kiss on the lips. It was more than they’d done before, lips gently moving against each other. Josephine gasped into the contact, a hand reaching back to twist in Isabela’s sea-tossed hair.

Isabela guided the kiss, standing up and leaning over the table and using her tongue to slip into Josephine’s mouth. She drew small moans out with practiced ease, but Josephine didn’t even think of all the people who’d been with Isabela prior – she could only think of the here and now.

They broke apart, though their lips remained close enough that a slight movement would bring them together again.

“They made you up a room for your stay, you know,” Josephine said, willing her cheeks to stay an even tone, just this once. She knew she sounded breathless – she was terrified. Never before had she invited someone to her bed, which was her intention with Isabela, only in fewer words.

Isabela said nothing, simply got to her feet, linked arms with Josephine, and dragged her out into the crisp night air.

Josephine lead Isabela by the hand through the body of the building, walking the route she knew so well she could do it blindfolded. Isabela took the opportunity along the way to stop her, to pull her into recesses in the wall and kiss her hard up against the stone, to murmur sweet nothings in her ears.

When they reached Josephine’s quarters, stepped into the room with the fire already blazing, all confidence suddenly vanished. One glass of wine had not been enough.

“Josie,” Isabela said, stroking hands over her hips, “I like you, and I want to give you all the time in the world.” She placed a kiss against Josephine’s cheek, earning a pleased noise. “And I’ve never met anyone who I couldn’t stop thinking about like you. I’ve never met anyone who can take my mind from the water like you.” Her grip tightened, and Josephine felt herself tugged closer. “I want you, but I don’t want to rush you.”

Like a secret code, _I want you_ echoed through Josephine’s mind and she reached forward to close the gap between them. She was a master of chaste kisses and secrets between lips, but Josephine indulged in the raw physicality of it: she let their teeth knock, let lips be pulled and sucked and nipped _oh-so-gently_. She let their bodies find their way to her bed, both landing in the plush, Orlesian linens – silk sheets and a heavy down comforter.

“I want you too,” Josephine said, and then dipped her head, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t as nice as what you said – but I feel the same. I’ve missed you so.”

Isabela laughed, that musical sound that automatically made Josephine smile. “Maybe this is what all that true love talk is about?”

Josephine didn’t have a chance to respond as Isabela pounced, kissing her intently for so long Josephine felt she might have died and been received by the Maker. They had no rush, and indulged in each moment together. Josephine was the first to lay a hand on bare skin, stroking up Isabela’s thigh and delighting in the shiver.

“You are so sneaky,” Isabela remarked with a grin, biting a trail down Josephine’s neck.

It took some time to gently undo and unbutton the layers Josephine wore, and Isabela took care with each one. She kissed each patch of tanned skin as it was revealed, leaving small marks behind. They had to have been going for hours, each one taking turns to remove an article of clothing and memorise the bare flesh with lip-touch.

By the time they were both naked and wrapped up Josephine’s heavy comforter, their skin was damp with sweat. Josephine straddled Isabela’s body, grinding against her hip bone as they kissed. Isabela let a hand trail down her stomach, gently coaxing until she was between Josephine’s legs, brushing softly the sensitive nub there.

Josephine let out a moan, a shiver climbing her spine. “Oh, Isabela,” she groaned, as the woman beneath her slid her fingers back, back, and then up inside her.

Josephine was already wet, the time spent touching and kissing innocently having driven her almost mad. She rode down on the fingers inside her, the small noises of pleasure escalating when Isabela added a third digit. Her free hand reached up, toyed with Josephine’s nipples, gently twisting and tugging on the hard flesh.

“Maker, all I want to do is taste you,” Isabela moaned, removing her fingers and leaving Josephine feeling quite bereft.

It didn’t last long: Josephine was bodily moved so that she lay in the centre of the bed, undeniably turned on by the manhandling of her – partner. Before she had a moment to think, Isabela was between her legs, licking and sucking.

“Isabla – I don’t know if I can –“

“I want you, all of you, Lady Montilyet,” Isabela demanded between tastes, her breath contact enough to have Josephine writhing on the bed, her hands fisted in silken sheets.

In moments Josephine was overtaken by her orgasm, body overwhelmed by the incredible, indescribable sensation.

When her sense returned to her, Isabela was lying beside her, spooning her body. “You’re beautiful.” She mumbled, kissing the nearest available part of Josephine – the bone of her shoulder.

“As are you,” Josephine replied, still out of breath even as she rolled them over, “and I should imagine you would be that much more beautiful with my name cried out between those lips.”

Josephine pressed a brief kiss to Isabela’s parted lips before sliding down her body. As she went her breasts rubbed across Isabela’s smooth skin, their nipples catching together in a movement that was pleasurable for both of them.

Once Josephine had settled between Isabela’s legs it took some time to get a rhythm up, but she had soon arranged her body as such: her mouth placing kisses to her clitoris, three of her fingers curled deep in the heat of Isabela’s body.

Isabela was loud. Josephine didn’t know what she expected. There was a hand fisted in her hair, and the people either side of her room would no doubt hear every praise Isabela sung, but Josephine couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

Neither of them could bring themselves to care actually, not when they spent hours in the morning kissing and stroking, lazily indulging in each other’s bodies. Their time was short, though, and when the sun reached its peak Isabela reluctantly untangled herself from Josephine’s body and bed.

Josephine insisted on riding down to the port with Isabela and her crew. It wasn’t often she got to leave Skyhold, and she was overdue a trip down to where the sea met the shore.

“Well, it’s no Antiva City, but I suppose it shall do.” Josephine remarked, looking across at Isabela who was just dismounting from her loaned steed.

Isabela laughed, coming across to Josephine’s horse and leaning up on her toes. “A kiss for good luck, my lady?”

Josephine turned and dismounted, landing on the ground with a small _oof_. She turned to Isabela but was already caught in an embrace before she could make a move. Their kiss was chaste, but not kept secret from the rest of the people gathered – Isabela’s crew and the two Skyhold attendants who’d ridden down with them.

“Until the sea brings you back to me, good luck.” Josephine said.

“And until then, I have plenty to keep my mind entertained.” With a lewd wink and a parting kiss, Isabela was bounding onto the ship, turning once to wave.

Josephine remounted her horse and sat there a moment, watching their ship until it was beyond the horizon.

\---

That was how their – relationship, Josephine supposed – progressed. There were meetings when Isabela found the time, frantic kisses on the ramparts to hours spent indulging between the sheets. No matter the time they learned every inch of the others skin, tasting and touching to ensure that it would never be forgotten, not even when their duties tore them away from each other.

When Isabela was at sea, or – rarely – Josephine was out on diplomatic work, they sent letters. It took little time for them to sign _with love_ at the bottom of every message. To write them was easy – to even consider saying them tore Josephine apart on the inside, wondering if the feeling was reciprocated.

And then, one day, letters stopped coming.

Josephine was used to waiting some time, depending on where Isabela was or how busy she had been, but after two weeks passed without word she found herself worrying. Then came a third week, with nothing still. Josephine maintained she was not a mess, and she was certainly _not_ snappy no matter what the others thought. She was – concerned. That was all.

Word reached Josephine of Isabela’s fate from Leliana, naturally. “She has been arrested in Val Royeaux on charges of theft and piracy.” Leliana maintained that strangely amused look she always had when talking about Isabela, though neither woman had yet to indulge Josephine as to _why_.

It didn’t take Josephine long to arrive in Val Royeaux, strategic meetings with the appropriate nobility already lined up. Money spoke volumes to initially retrieve Isabela from her cell, the Inquisition putting forth enough coin to secure her bail. When the woman was hauled out into the sunlight she looked much worse for wear, face strained and arms drawn back behind her body. She was in her usual attire, though it had clearly not been washed in quite some time – whether that look was due to the squalor of the cell, or just Isabela’s usual, Josephine didn’t quite know. In any case, she bathed before her visits to Skyhold, and that was all Josephine asked.

“Thank you,” Josephine responded delicately to the guard who removed Isabela’s cuffs, smiling at the woman brightly who mustered up little more than a weak smirk in response.

“You know the conditions?” Was his gruff reply.

“Of course, sir,” Josephine manoeuvred herself so she stood at Isabela’s side, looping their arms together and taking advantage of the fact that the woman was, for once, speechless. “She will not leave Val Royeaux until the trial. I assure you.”

Without waiting for another word Josephine turned on her heel and flounced out of the jailhouse, dragging Isabela along behind her. The sunlight was blinding compared to the dark jailhouse, and Josephine raised one free hand to shield her eyes. Isabela was busily staring at the bruises that encircled both her wrists, a contemplative frown on her face.

The two of them made an odd pair in Vol Royeaux: Josephine fitting in perfectly with her fine dress and noble gait, Isabela a stumbling, unwashed mess. Without looking, Josephine knew that they had attracted many curious eyes, many whispers hidden behind hands, and she couldn’t help the delight that curled in her belly at the thought of it.

“We have a meeting with Marquise Courtemance to attend at her estate,” Josephine explained as they walked, giving Isabela a visual once-over to ensure she was acceptable enough. Josephine couldn’t quite say she met the standards for a Marquise, but it would have to do. “I expect you to be on your best behaviour.”

Isabela nodded numbly and Josephine nearly missed a step, wondering if she had done something wrong. It took a lot to get Isabela quiet – Josephine was sure she would talk as she went down on her, were oxygen not a thing her body required. It was only when Isabela opened her mouth to state, “you are the most amazing woman I have ever met,” in an incredulous tone that her worry was calmed. In its place rose a small bubble of pleasure – for once Josephine could, and would, be the heroine.

\---

They were seated on the balcony of a seaside villa, the Marquise’ staff attending to them with offers of tea and cake. Josephine accepted with the grace of a woman who had played the Game before – Isabela accepted with the grace of a starving woman just released from a cell. To the Marquise’ credit, she said nothing of it, instead smiling politely at Josephine.

“Lady Montilyet, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Courtemance spoke with the typical inflection of Orlesian nobility: nasal and aloof, as though she had not a care in the world.

“Marquise Courtemance, I have a favour to ask,” though Josephine’s voice was light, something in her tone bore a serious edge, “my companion, Lady Isabela, has found herself in an unfortunate legal position. I require a noble to apply for her pardon.”

Instantly the Marquise bristled, straightening up in her chair. “Lady Montilyet, I do not know what gives you the impression that I deal with criminals. I will not allow our name to be bought into an Inquisition matter, nor allow it to be sullied by,” at this, the Marquise gave Isabela a very disapproving glance, “a convict,” was the nicest way she could have finished her sentence.

Josephine made a small, displeased noise. “Of course, Marquise, forgive me for that assumption. You can understand the mistake, I am sure, considering the number of pardoned prisoners working your fields.” Josephine pulled from a pile of papers held near-permanently in her hands, the written criminal records of at least a half-dozen people. She lay them flat on the table, feigning confusion even as the colour drained from the Marquise’ face. It had been only too easy to find someone of a high enough rank involved in illegal activity – Leliana had actually given her a few to choose from.

Isabela, thankfully, was watching the entire discussion unfold silently. It could either be due to the fact that she understood her silence was necessary, or that she was too busy consuming her bodyweight in tiny sandwiches.

“Lady Montilyet, how did you come to be in possession of these?” The Marquise flicked through them each, expression darkening with each subsequent page. She admirably tried to maintain a neutral appearance, though Josephine saw clean through it all.

Josephine continued to feign innocence, years spent playing the Game guiding her actions. “At Skyhold we need to cut costs, you see, and we were wondering how some people were able to spend so little on their help – almost nothing at all. Actually, it is exactly nothing at all. And if you were so willing to pull murderers out of jail for free labour, I naturally came to the conclusion that you would be willing to assist my friend.” Josephine played dumb as she picked one of the sheets up, “an Antivan Crow, now how would a lady such as yourself be associated with them? I am sure that if you were mistaken in securing his release the correct authorities would like to hear about it. Perhaps we should inform them? An assassin should not be allowed out of jail simply because of a mistake when my friend – who has done nothing wrong – is expected to stand trial.”

Josephine looked over at Isabela, who was staring wondrously at her now that she had eaten everything available.

The Marquise continued to make noises of discomfort, starting sentences off only to rethink them before she eventually conceded with a sigh. “The Inquisition will have my name behind this pardon, Lady Montilyet. I trust that will be all you need?” Her voice was tense, a thinly veiled – yet completely ambiguous – threat concealed within it.

Josephine gently pushed across the prepared paperwork, every detail complete except for the signature of the Marquise. She scowled at the paper the entire time as she summoned a servant with a quill before elegantly flourishing her signature across the bottom line.

“For now,” Josephine answered, getting to her feet and bowing, the paper held secure in her hand, “thank you for your time, Marquise. The Inquisition is happy to have such a powerful ally as yourself. I hope we shall meet again soon.”

Isabela followed suit, awkwardly bowing and tripping over a chair leg as she followed Josephine out of the building. The staff all dipped their heads as they passed, and Josephine had to drag Isabela so she didn’t get distracted by the riches surrounding her. It would not do to rob the woman who had secured her freedom, surely Isabela understood that.

“Okay, just stop for a second.” Isabela said, and Josephine turned to face her, eyes wide and curious. They were outside now, standing on the sun-baked street, serenaded by the sound of gulls and the breaking waves.

“Have I done something wrong?” She asked – or went to. The last part of her sentence went unfinished as Isabela pounced, catching Josephine in a kiss intense enough to have nearby Orlesians staring. Her hands flew up, immediately fixing on Isabela’s cheeks, holding her in place for a long moment.

Josephine felt her face colour as Isabela pulled away, one hand lingering along the curve of her face. “That was quite possibly the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me. Why don’t you ever use your noblewoman negotiation voice in bed?” Isabela purred in Josephine’s ear, turning the light pink stain on her cheeks into a full red flush.

As Isabela’s luck would have it, they had to wait overnight to return to Skyhold. They were hosted by an Inquisition ally who attended to their every whim, putting on a feast and giving them a bedroom the size of a small house that overlooked the ocean.

Isabela got her wish as they tumbled amongst the fine Orlesian linens, Josephine’s naked body pinning her with a knee either side of her hips.

“What can you offer me?” Josephine leaned down and purred, right against Isabela’s ear, pulling on a gold hoop with her teeth. “You’re nothing more than a body for me to pleasure myself with, and even then I could do a better job myself.” The scorn was put-upon, and Josephine willed herself not to blush – she had thought quite long and hard about what she should say, and though it felt unnatural the way Isabela’s eyes rolled back in her head was a good sign to continue.

“Look at you, you’re soaking wet just thinking about me, aren’t you?” Josephine asked, drawing one finger between Isabela’s folds and then raising it to hover in front of her lips. She considered it momentarily before pressing her finger between Isabela’s lips. The woman eagerly licked her own wetness, dark eyes focused on Josephine and nearly making her cum then and there.

“You better believe I am.” Isabela replied, voice breathless and deep, hands sneaking up Josephine’s sides.

Josephine grabbed her wrists and pushed them down, holding them above Isabela’s head in a move Leliana had taught her (well, a move she had repurposed from one Leliana had taught her might be more accurate). What Isabela did next, Josephine couldn’t quite understand, but in the blink of an eye she was lying on her back as the other woman pressed her body down on top of hers.

Isabela waited only long enough to mumble, “you are so hot when you talk dirty,” before she was placing searing kisses down Josephine’s torso and then threw all her energy into giving Josephine the best orgasm of her life.

At least until the next one.

Once they had definitely ruined that particular Inquisition alliance by keeping the house up all night, Josephine snuggled up to Isabela’s side, her ear resting over the other woman’s heartbeat.

“Thank you for today,” Isabela said quietly, her hand running absently back and forth across the tanned flesh of Josephine’s back.

Josephine hummed contentedly, on the brink of sleep. “It was the least I could do for you.”

Isabela laughed, the sound music to Josephine’s ears. There was a moment of silence, during which Josephine nearly succumb to sleep, before Isabela whispered, “I love you.”

Josephine was awake long enough to manage a sleep-tinged, “I love you, too,” before she was out.

\---

“I have a proposition for you,” Joesphine said, drawing circles on Isabela’s bare chest as they counted down the minutes until they had to get up to return to Skyhold. Who knew this relationship would have made her so lazy?

“Mm,” Isabela replied, nuzzling into Josephine’s hair and pressing a gentle kiss amongst the mess, “I do like the sound of that, my dear, but will we have the time?”

With a sigh, Josephine rolled away from Isabela, propping herself up on her elbow at a distance from the other woman. “Not like that, you are disgusting sometimes,” though the smile on her face belied her words, “about what you are going to do next, I mean.”

Isabela rolled on her side, stretching her arms languidly up above her head, “I can always buy another ship.” She responded vaguely, a sleepy smile still present on her face. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Josephine didn’t respond how she initially reacted, which was quite simple – ‘it is my job to worry’. Worrying was what kept the Inquisition alive and functioning, worrying was what kept them with advantageous allies and abreast of any plots that threatened to bring them down. Worry was what Josephine did, personally, professionally, romantically. Everything was something she needed to worry about, in some capacity.

Instead she took a moment to find the words for what she wanted to say, reaching out to gently loop her fingers together with Isabela’s. “I have just acquired a ship that needs a captain and crew. It is not what you are used to, legal work, but if it keeps you out of trouble perhaps it will be worth it.”

In Isabela’s eyes, Josephine could see the war waging in her mind: she flickered between hesitance and uncertainty, and then something akin to happiness. Josephine had learned very quickly that Isabela did not feel comfortable when she was speechless, and so rolled herself out of bed and set about picking up her clothes. “You do not need to answer immediately, as it is still being finalised and delivered to our ports.”

The silence stretched on whilst Josephine redressed and carefully brushed her hair into some semblance of decency. She didn’t want to put pressure on Isabela, but she also hated not knowing.

Josephine sat down at the vanity, placing her bag of makeup on the smooth, stained wood surface and leaning in close to the mirror. She drew with precision the lines along the base of her eyelashes and smoothed out her skintone, In the reflection she could see Isabela standing and stretching up on her toes, her muscled torso distracting enough that she hesitated in the application of her blusher.

Isabela’s process of getting ready was much quicker than Josephine’s, and the woman leaned over her shoulder just as Josephine was finishing off her lips.

“I’d like that,” Isabela said, placing a kiss against Josephine’s cheek when it was obvious she was done.

\---

That was that.

They went back to Skyhold, spent a luxurious week in which Isabela bothered some combination of Josephine/Leliana/Hawke/Varric/Cassandra/Bull before she made her way to Antiva City and to start her new, legal livelihood.

And when, weeks later, Josephine received mail from Antiva City – though _not_ from Isabela – she was reminded of the sickening lurch she felt in her stomach when she glanced over the ramparts to the steep, sharp drop surrounding Skyhold.

Her family had found her a suitable partner, and she was betrothed.

Josephine wasted no time heading north through the tower, towards the one person she could rely on to fix this problem. Or, at the very least, help her fix it. Her mind was reeling, trying to envision the man she had been promised to – that name, it rang a bell, but from where? And when?

Leliana was, as usual, skulking around in her tower. The sounds of the birds all around made sure that no one could overhear their conversation, even when Josephine slammed the letter on the table and proclaimed, with no sense of privacy, “they’ve sold me off!”

It was a tight smile that Leliana returned over her shoulder, her torso still pointed towards the window, the bright sun streaming in. “I’d wondered when they would tell you. It’s the talk of Antiva.” As happened so often with Leliana, her words carried a specific weight: she had picked them with a meaning she wasn’t going to tell Josephine, but expected her to know.

“I don’t particularly _care_ if everyone in Antiva City knows!” Josephine replied, flustered, her hands busily making aborted movements around her body. “What will Isabela think? That I would betray her like that whilst she’s away at work. How do I even tell her?” Josephine at last threw herself into a rickety wooden chair, heaving a giant sigh that deflated her body.

Leliana left the window sill, dropping down with more elegance than Josephine into a chair opposite her. “I do not believe that will be necessary.”

“Why not? Isabela has a right to know, we are…” As Josephine searched for an appropriate word, Leliana let out a mirthless chuckle.

“Your betrothal is the talk of Antiva City.” She repeated, eyes encouraging Josephine to look just a little further, think just a little harder.

Josephine’s heart sank when she realised. Isabela had been docked in Antiva City mere days ago. She would have heard all about it. “She already knows?” Josephine asked, both certain of the upcoming answer, yet hoping Leliana would assure her otherwise.

“She is two days out of Val Royeaux. Coincidentally, your betrothed Lord Ortranto is too.”

Josephine buried her face in her hands. She could not continue any romantic pursuits whilst an outstanding engagement remained, for fear of bringing dishonour to her family name. There were some ways to negate a betrothal such as theirs – the death of either party (not ideal, naturally), a peaceful financial settling, or a difference of opinion between the two engaged. Josephine planned to use her words to fix the problem, weave a delicate narrative of true love that none could refuse, but Isabela was very quickly forcing her hand. If they met – what would happen? How would it play out? Would Isabela believe her a cheater, a dishonest woman?

“What is she going to do?” Josephine moaned, mostly to herself.

Thus she was not expecting an answer when it came: “She has challenged Lord Ortranto to a duel for your hand.”

Josephine’s head snapped back up at that, though her mouth was slow to move and hung open. She would be mortified had she the energy to worry about her appearance. “And you didn’t think to tell me sooner? I must get to Val Royeaux now.”

“I felt it premature to alert you to her intentions when word of your own pending nuptials had yet to reach you.” Josephine would have time to be mad at Leliana later, though she significantly helped her case when she offered, “there is a group waiting to escort you to the capital. I’ve had someone go ahead and pack your bags. You’ll ride out immediately.”

Josephine gave Leliana a sharp look, one that said _‘you are not forgiven, not yet,’_ before she turned on her heel and marched back downstairs.

She had a duel to stop.

\---

The ride was agonisingly slow, and every time they had to stop for rest Josephine felt a second closer to actually snapping and losing her mind. Where possible they rode long after sunset, and were saddled up once more before the day had truly started, but it was worth it when the ornate skyline of Val Royeaux creeped into sight.

It was mid-morning and the square was alive with activity: vendors selling their wares, people making social calls, words of gossip discussed behind masks and carefully placed hands. And there was Josephine, in her three-day-old dress, smelling of sweat and horse.

There was a commotion to one end of the city, and she inelegantly shoved her way through the masses, ignoring outraged cries. She could fix their relations later – right now she could hear grunts of exertion and the _chink_ of metal on metal.

Like bursting up from beneath the ocean, Josephine was surrounded and then all at once very aware of how alone she was. Before her spanned a man-made circle, and she had just thrown herself into the middle of it.

Isabela positively gleamed in the sunlight. Sweat glistened on her dark skin, gold chains around her neck rattled with each move, each strike and parry and dodge. Ortranto, to his credit, appeared tired yet maintained technical integrity, driving Isabela back with a few carefully aimed blows.

“Wait!” Josephine said, having caught her breath, throwing her body between the two duelling partners.

Isabela looked at her with a mixed look of terror and - “Josie, what are you doing here?” Her voice was tender and soft, and her free hand extended towards Josephine’s cheek.

“What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?” Josephine cried, her voice high and strained, exhaustion and fear and adrenaline pulling apart the threads of her normally well-practiced speech, “you are a criminal here Isabela, I barely got you out of here last time and you’d come back to _duel_ someone?”

Isabela pulled her hand back, the muscles in her toned arms tensing. “Duelling is perfectly legal,” she muttered.

“Not if you kill someone!” Josephine certainly wasn’t yelling, but it was close. “Isabela why would you risk your own safety like this? Over nothing?”

Something changed in Isabela’s eyes, and she took a step forward, hesitant. “Over nothing? Josephine, this isn’t just _nothing_. You’re meant to marry this man, and I couldn’t – I couldn’t let that happen.”

“It wouldn’t happen, Isabela, I wouldn’t _let_ it.” Josephine begged, extending her hands to hold Isabela’s free one, the sweat of her palm mixing with the sweat coating Isabela’s skin. “I just don’t want you putting yourself in danger for me.”

“I would die for you, Josephine Montilyet. I could not stand by and let someone else wrongly think you would marry them, not when I want to marry you." It was like they were alone in their own world. Isabela tossed the sword to the side, her hand pushing back an escaped wisp of Josephine’s hair. “I love you,” she whispered as she placed a kiss to the side of Josephine’s mouth, catching the edge her trembling lip.

“But what if you got hurt?” Josephine whispered, the sound caught between their lips and then gone.

Isabela smiled, and none of her normal deviousness was present. “It would all be worth it to have your hand in mine.”

“You don’t need to fight someone for that.” Josephine answered, the tension rapidly sapping from her body. Around the crowd continued to leer at them, watching and murmuring about the brilliant romantic drama playing out before their eyes. The Orlesians died for this kind of thing.

“I know, but isn’t it that much more romantic?” Isabela smirked, “challenge the fiancé to a sword fight, win and get the girl? Your writing letters isn’t that exciting.”

Josephine huffed, her head dropping to rest on Isabela’s shoulder. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

“So marry me.” Isabela said as though it was another part of the duel, the parry to her riposte.

Josephine’s head popped back up. “What?”

“Marry me. Here, now, covered in sweat and with a crowd.”

Josephine couldn’t tell if Isabela was joking or not. She was saved by answering by the sound of a sword sheathed, the sudden hush of the crowd. Isabela’s hands were on her, one possessively curved against her waist, the other on her shoulder blade. Josephine turned her head to look at Lord Ortranto – recognised him from her childhood, vaguely – and had nothing to say.

“Well fought, Lady Isabela.” Lord Ortanto said, nodding his head to them both. “It would be foolish of me to attempt to come between you two. The engagement is off.”

Josephine blinked, watched the man who had just minutes ago been _fighting_ for her hand, unable to muster up any appropriate response.

“So will you marry me now?” Isabela asked, her voice a whisper against Josephine’s ear.

Josephine batted at her shoulder playfully. “Not when I look like this.” She replied, gesturing at her travelling clothes.

“When you look like what? The most gorgeous woman in all of Thedas?”

“Stop it.” Josephine insisted, though betrayed her words by pressing desperate kisses to Isabela’s own mouth. They remained like that, interwoven, as the crowd dissipated and the day wore on.

“I am expecting a beautiful ring if you would like my hand in marriage.” Josephine said jokingly, eventually disentangling them. “Custom made, with gold and fine stones, forged by a master jeweller.”

Isabela laughed, but still mumbled, “anything for you,” into her hair as they went to find accommodation for the evening – though sleeping was not the first thing on either of their minds.

\---

They both got busy after Orlais – busier was, perhaps, more accurate. The Inquisitor was out more often than not, making new allies and fighting new evils. Josephine was keeping their funding up from their assorted benefactors, and trying to keep people calm even as Cullen and Leliana stayed up later and later, looked more and more stressed.

Isabela, weirdly enough, just kept bringing people with her at every visit. Josephine no longer had time to meet Isabela at the port, but each time she returned there was a new companion with her.

The first person she bought was a tiny elven mage, tattoos similar to Lavellan’s looping across her pale face. She smiled and introduced herself with a handshake, her lilting, accented voice sounding like a song. “My name is Merrill, Isabela has told me a lot about you Lady Montilyet, I’m so pleased to meet you.” And then the poor girl had been hurried off to look at some magical mirror Lavellan (and another random pick-up who _also_ seemed to know both Leliana and Isabela, a surly witch by the name of Morrigan) had found.

Weeks apart, as Lavellan and company went off running through magical mirrors and fighting dragons, Isabela continued to add to her Skyhold family. The people she dragged in with her lingered at base, mostly around Hawke, but sometimes went out with the Inquisition party as extra bodies on the field.

Second was Fenris, who matched Morrigan in the surliness factor and glowed with strange tattoos Isabela later revealed to be Lyrium. When Josephine had pressed for more information, Isabela had simply shrugged and started sliding a hand up her blouse and that was that. Josephine didn’t care much for Fenris, but he was always minimally polite to her so that was fine. Hawke seemed to be keeping a close eye on him, as did Varric, which was nice.

A letter came next, addressed to Josephine from Prince Vael of Starkhaven. The pledge, as it was briefly outlined, was for the entire surplus of Starkhaven soldiers to attend Skyhold in preparation for the battle against Corypheus. Sebastian, as he signed at the end, was indebted to Lady Hawke and the Inquisiton after their assistance (the particulars of which had gotten lost in the thousands of letters Josephine had penned over their time).

The final companion Isabela dragged into their halls looked like a poor homeless apostate. Josephine had actually been in the middle of breakfast, as had most of Skyhold, when he entered at Isabela’s side.

For those who recognised him, it was obviously a very tense moment.

Fenris stormed out, which was surprising to Josephine at the time, but if she had to pick any of them to angrily storm out it would be him. Varric rolled his eyes, possibly at Fenris, possibly at the apostate. That was before Cassandra marched over to the dwarf and bodily dragged him from the room, ranting about something Josephine was also clueless about.

For someone who knew so many secrets, kept so much of the Inquisiton together, she was watching a drama play out before her and knew none of the characters or backgrounds. Leliana, who was eating beside Josephine, observed the proceedings with mild interest.

“What’s going on?” Josephine whispered to her, not wanting to break the uncomfortable, tense silence in the room.

Leliana swallowed her food before answering. “That is Anders, the mage who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and started the Mage Rebellion.” The way Leliana spoke, almost carelessly now, did not suit the content of her response. She gestured at said mage with her spoon, before returning to her breakfast.

“What – was he not tried?” Josephine hurriedly whispered, watching in shock as Hawke stood up and conversed under her breath with the man, before the two of them embraced.

“We tried,” Leliana said, and then smiled a little at her own joke. “He fled. Haven’t heard from him until now. Perhaps your beloved would care to shed some light.”

Josephine took stock of the room: Cassandra and Varric arguing in the corner; Hawke and Anders conversing intimately; Isabela an awkward figure to the side; and Fenris nowhere to be found. The only one of them that looked even marginally okay with things was Merrill, who continued to eat her breakfast, aware of their guest but seemingly careless.

Isabela took that moment to sneak away from the scene going on, and as soon as she had left the spell was broken: everyone in the room started chattering away again, quietly at first and then rising until it reached ordinary dining hall volume.

“I’ve missed you,” Isabela said gently, as if she’d noticed the tension at the table, and dropped into the empty chair beside Josephine. “How have you been?”

“I was fine until you showed up with the apostate,” Josephine replied, voice tense.

Isabela, to her credit, looked a little guilty. “Uh, yeah, about that – Hawke asked me to. So I did.”

“And if Hawke asked you to jump off the ramparts?” Leliana supplied pleasantly from Josephine’s other side.

“I’d take you with me, Spymaster,” Isabela replied brightly, as Josephine turned to scold Leliana.

Leliana laughed delicately, before standing to go do whatever it was she did on a daily basis. Probably argue with Cullen over their next move – Josephine was beginning to tire of their war table meetings. They always wound up the same way, the pair of them deciding when, _exactly_ , to go take on Corypheus. Horrifyingly, the date kept creeping sooner and sooner. Josephine was tense just thinking about it – Isabela dragging in a criminal apostate was the last thing she needed right now.

“Obviously people here know what he did. We’ll have to organise a trial for him, he can’t get away with what he did in Kirkwall. They might even ask us to extradite him.” It would be a political nightmare, and Josephine would be the one cleaning it all up. “How could you even think –“

“Josie, stop,” Isabela said, and she was lucky Josephine was so fond of her or she would have spoken right over top of her.

“Isabela, I don’t have time for this right now, they’re talking about riding out for The Valley over the next few days and we have so much to prepare,” Josephine was aware that she didn’t stop, but her focus was now on their upcoming battle, not on Isabela’s poorly-timed acquisition at least.

Isabela placed both her hands on Josephine’s cheeks. “I know what they’re planning.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and Josephine’s mind stopped the frantic path it was headed down. “That’s why Anders is here. And everyone else from Kirkwall.”

“What do you mean that’s why they’re here?”

“Hawke asked me to bring everyone back for the fight against Corypheus. We’re going with her.” Isabela was doing that thing Leliana did, imbuing her words with extra, hidden meaning that Josephine didn’t understand. When it was clear Josephine wasn’t going to say anything, Isabela clarified: “ _I’m_ going with her. To fight Corypheus. We did it before, once, in Kirkwall. I figure we can do it again, right?” Isabela smiled then, a poor attempt at lightening up the situation now that Josephine understood her true intentions.

Isabela had not been picking up stray friends to bring them home and give them some food, she’d been picking them up with the intention of taking them – and herself – into the final battle against Corypheus. The final, terrifying battle that had been plaguing Josephine’s waking hours for months. The battle that would likely spell death for a lot of the people she had grown to care for, that surrounded her now, eating and chatting and laughing despite the impending terror.

Isabela was going to go there, without Josephine, and it was entirely likely she might never return.

“Josie – no, I didn’t say that to make you upset, I just –“

“– you didn’t think to tell me this _before_?” Josephine couldn’t help the tear that escaped the corner of her eye, making a solemn trail down her cheek. “All this time you’ve been planning to go out there and possibly – _die_ and you just thought you’d tell me later?”

Isabela responded by pulling Josephine into a tight hug, which she protested feebly against before sagging into. Isabela was rubbing soothing circles on Josephine’s back, promising over and over in hushed tones that she wouldn’t die, she wouldn’t let it happen, but it did nothing to alleviate the sudden, breathless panic that had consumed Josephine.

This was never meant to happen. Isabela was never meant to show up out of the blue and win Josephine’s heart and make it impossible for her to imagine a future without her. Josephine had never meant to get attached because now she had to face the prospect of weeks in gut-wrenching limbo, wondering whether the woman she loved was dead or alive.

“I can’t lose you,” Josephine admitted at last, tearfully, as she pulled her head away from Isabela’s chest. She felt that the moment deserved a more dramatic setting, perhaps on the edge of a clifftop as the sun set and the wind tugged at their bodies. Instead Josephine was crying softly whilst everyone around them chatted about the latest keg of brew they’d bought in at The Herald’s Rest, or what training they were doing that day, or how the oatmeal was undercooked and tough. It was entirely too ordinary a moment to realise that Isabela was leaving her, possibly for good.

“And you won’t,” Isabela said, holding Josephine’s gaze, even when the Ambassador herself had to look away, “I promise.”

\---

Since Isabela’s announcement, Josephine had felt her dread grow exponentially. Each time Leliana and Cullen argued – Leliana’s inside information telling them to strike early, Cullen’s troops needing more training – she felt personally invested in their answer. Cullen wanted a week at the least until they rode out, Leliana asked that they do so immediately. Take Corypheus off-guard, give him less time to prepare.

Josephine could see the benefits of both perspectives, yet she found herself siding with Cullen for purely selfish reasons. Leliana reluctantly agreed that they would leave in five days and ride in multiple small parties, reducing the potential for a surprise attack to debilitate all their forces. Cullen found this acceptable and set about breaking his troops up into those groups, according to skill and relationships.

“So that’s that, then?” Josephine asked, speaking up for the first time since their discussion had begun. “Five days and we’re sentencing all these people to a potentially very early grave?”

Cullen smiled at her in the way that he did when he wasn’t mid-argument, tender and warm. “If we don’t defeat Corypheus, the whole of Thedas is doomed. There’s time to say farewell.”

Josephine wanted to feel angry – she wanted to hurt one of them, just because she was hurt. She scowled at Cullen’s response but had nothing to retaliate with, so turned to Leliana. Her mouth opened, mind scrabbling to find something to say, barbed and dangerous, to illicit a reaction.

Leliana knew her too well, though, and she was smiling faintly at her too, in that pitying way Cullen was doing.

Josephine huffed and stood up, gathering her things and striding from the room without explanation.

\---

She worked out in the sunshine for the rest of the day, though to call it working was ignoring the fact that Josephine spent most of her time watching Isabela train. Isabela and Hawke and their assorted Kirkwall companions occupied a small training ring to themselves, and trained in a variety of combinations: one-on-one, groups against other groups, and one-on-all.

Up until that moment, Josephine had never seen Isabela fight. In fact, she hadn’t know that Isabela _was_ a fighter: naturally being a pirate she had some combat skills, but Josephine hadn’t imagined her to be so skilled. The two blades she held were sharpened to deadly points, and reflected the sunlight in bright streaks. The handles were golden, intricately carved, and inlaid with precious stones. They were status symbols as much as they were weapons, as welcome in an Orlesian sitting room as a battlefield, and Josephine wondered whether they’d originally come from a wealthy home and been liberated.

Isabela worked well with most of the people in the party, though kept mostly to herself. She was quick and agile, jumping and flipping and taking advantage of backstabs and flanks. It was evident that, for all her darting movements, Josephine and the others were not striking each other at full capability. They wore armour and padding, but Josephine knew at a glance that Isabela could gut them in a gap between the mail or metal.

They worked hard in the crisp day, sweat coating them by the time the sun had reached its midday peak. It was then that they called it a day, breaking off to get something to eat and practice individually. Isabela came up and dropped onto the low stone wall Josephine was occupying, draping a damp arm across her shoulders.

Josephine made a face and wriggled out of her grip. “You’re disgusting.”

“Care to join me for a bath, Lady Montilyet?” Isabela asked, clasping an arm around Josephine’s front and pullinh her into a sweaty embrace.

Josephine struggled a bit longer before simply letting Isabela latch onto her. “I have work to do,” she said primly, placing one hand on the driest part of Isabela’s leg. It was misleadingly wet to the touch.

“You do?” Isabela asked, brows knitting down. “Funny that, you’ve spent all morning watching us train. I haven’t seen you touch your quill.” She nodded knowingly at the blank parchment, and the bone-dry quill. Isabela was right – Josephine had been distracted.

“Which means I have a lot to catch up on,” Josephine countered, blushing faintly.

Isabela kissed one of her pink cheeks, nuzzling against her a moment longer before unlocking her arms. “I’m starving. I’ll see you later.”

And just like that, daggers resting on her swaying hips, Isabela was gone.

\---

The only benefit of Isabela being part of their march on Corypheus was that she had to stay at Skyhold until they left. Each night Josephine got to wrap herself up in Isabela’s body, to kiss her senseless, to make her sweaty in a much more enjoyable fashion than training.

Each morning it got harder and harder to release her to the world outside. Four days remained, then three and two and one, and Josephine would have done anything for more time.

Isabela remained relatively unchanged, making stupid jokes and ridiculous come-ons, placing kisses and grabbing Josephine in spaces that were too public. It just made it easier for Josephine to pretend everything was carrying on as usual, and she wasn’t getting ready to send Isabela off to the last great battle they may ever see.

That final day, Josephine couldn’t get any work done. She couldn’t watch Isabela train, as every time she did she couldn’t help imagining how she’d look when facing off against parties that meant her harm, rather than her friends and comrades. She couldn’t read the words on letters she meant to respond to, and she couldn’t lift her quill without making mistakes and leaving ink blots everywhere.

Josephine was entirely useless, so she took herself up to the ramparts and stared down at the steep drop below. The wind buffeted her, hitting her chest so hard that breathing was a difficulty. In the distance she could see the dark skies that had been haunting them, the damned breach, reminding them constantly of the threat that was coming for them.

The time she spent there was unmeasured – was it an hour or a whole afternoon? – but eventually Leliana materialised at her side.

“I could go with you, you know,” Josephine attempted lamely.

Leliana smiled and leaned closer so that their sides were connected. “Having a dagger for safety in the Orlesian court is much different to fighting a beast. We need you here, besides.”

Josephine exhaled shakily and was glad for the wind disguising the weak sound. “I need to know she’s okay. I need her to come back.” Leliana had been with her through much of her life, and Josephine felt she had no more trusted confidant in the world than her.

“I know you do. I’ll send word, if I can.” Leliana explained as she idly picked at an eroding stone parapet. The tiny pieces of grit crumbled away and plunged into oblivion.

Josephine made an appreciative noise, and then they were silent once more.

It lasted until a thought – one that Josephine hadn’t had since meeting Isabela – rose to the fore of her mind. “How do you know Isabela, then? You said you met her in Denerim?”

Leliana laughed, a sound that had been seriously lacking in recent times. “We met her at a brothel. It was an interesting evening – we had plenty of those during the Blight, I suppose.”

Josephine turned to fully face Leliana, surprise evident. “You _slept_ with her?” It wasn’t a betrayal, as Josephine couldn’t police Isabela before knowing her, but to hear that her closest friend and her partner had been intimate was –

“No, _I_ didn’t sleep with Isabela. She did, however, spend the evening with Ferelden’s current King and Queen. And then Zevran. I fear I was the only one who missed out on a tryst with your lovely captain,” Leliana smiled fondly, looking back on times when things were – easier? Simpler? Different, at the least.

“Oh,” Josephine could think of nothing else to say. “Is that why you warned me to be careful?”

“I have known Isabela a while. I saw her in Ferelden, we followed her in Kirkwall. She nearly started a war, the idiot,” Leliana continued on, yet there was a certain affection to her insult, “but she’s… I may have misjudged her. I have never seen someone so devoted. She does love you.”

Josephine smiled and looked down, then out again. The wind was starting to sting her cheeks, make her eyes water. “I love her too.”

“She will come back for you,” Leliana said with such conviction that Josephine’s heart, for the first time in a week, settled into a more acceptable rhythm.

They turned together then, Leliana’s arm linked through Josephine’s in a sign of affection that had been forgotten since this whole mess began. Josephine squeezed her arm tighter, ready for it all to be over.

\---

Isabela found Josephine in the dining hall later than usual that night. She didn’t stop to pick anything to eat, and instead grabbed Josephine’s hand and hauled her from the room. Josephine left behind her half-eaten stew and Leliana’s raised eyebrow to follow Isabela outside, into the near-deserted halls. The atmosphere at Skyhold had been tense all day, and no one watched them go – everyone was saying farewell, coping in the ways that worked for them.

As soon as they were out of the room, down in the long hallway that contained Josephine’s office, Isabela turned on her and kissed her so hard that Josephine feared her mouth would bruise. She had no breath left, but Isabela didn’t let her go, just kept kissing and kissing. Josephine didn’t know if she was crying or if Isabela was or they both were, but she tasted salt on her lips between the desperation.

“I’m going to miss you,” Isabela said between kisses, voice wrecked, “so much, Josie, so much – _Maker_ , I don’t want to leave you.” She was panting as if she’d run all day, forehead pressing to Josephine’s, hands memorising every inch of her body over clothing.

Josephine willed herself not to cry too much, to make their farewell a happy occasion – an _until next time_ rather than a _just in case_. “You’ll be back before you know it,” Josephine said, willing herself to believe the words too.

The hallway was dark and frigid, Josephine’s fireplace having been unlit since that morning. The cold stone bit through her thick clothing.

“What you said in Orlais – you meant it, right?” Isabela asked, eyes searching for something.

“What did I say?”

“That you’d marry me. You meant it?”

Josephine smiled sincerely then, cheeks aching, and then she did start crying in earnest, “of course I will, you fool, of course I’ll marry you.”

“I don’t have a ring, not right now, I’ve been busy,” Isabela explained, before looking down at her hands, “but I have this. It’s not much, but it’s mine and I want you to keep it, just until I get you something better – full of stones, just like you want.” Josephine watched as Isabela wrenched the ring from her right hand. It was a simple band, silver and scuffed as if it had seen its fair share of combat.

Isabela held it up and looked at Josephine, worried and sheepish, until Josephine offered her left hand up to her. The ring fit surprisingly well, if a little loose, and Josephine rubbed her thumb against the base of it against her palm. “Thank you,” she whispered, kissing Isabela again, less frenzied now.

“I didn’t even ask if you’d marry me. Properly, I mean.”

“Save that for when you get a proper ring,” Josephine said, taking Isabela’s hand and leading her to her – _their_ quarters.

They made it to the bed, joined and entangled like two vines grown together. There was no rush to see who could disrobe first, but rather they took their time: kissing, touching, _remembering_. Isabela’s touch ghosted along every inch of Josephine’s skin, a phantom feeling that she concentrated on keeping in her mind for when she was gone.

And all too soon, Isabela’s leaving was a reality.

They were up before dawn, mere hours since they’d fallen asleep together. Isabela’s was one of the first groups riding out – she, along with the other Kirkwall adoptees and the soldiers sent to them from Starkhaven. Josephine got up with Isabela, and numbly pulled on her riding clothes and a thick cloak. Together they walked quietly through the halls, and Isabela collected from the kitchen a pack with some rations in it to last them until they were able to hunt and cook some fresh food. Outside it was dark, but lit torches guided them down to the stables where the horses were waiting for them – not every group had mounts, but they were expected to ride ahead and survey the damage. The Inquisitor’s party would be the next one to go, before the bulk of Skyhold troops followed.

The horses made quiet noises to one another, probably wondering what they were all doing awake so offensively early. Isabela was given a mount by one of the stable hands, a sturdy looking creature who barely twitched when she climbed on board. Joesphine was loaned another horse to ride down and return, one destined to be leaving in the next mounted group.

Everyone who was awake and free stood at the main gate and watched them go. Some held each other, some waved, some prayed. Josephine felt a fraud riding out with the stony-faced soldiers and Isabela’s friends, people who were actually going to make a difference whilst she stayed behind.

They rode single file, muzzle to rear, down the steep path out of Skyhold. The front riders carried torches and called out any potential hazards, and in the distance behind them Josephine could see another torch indicating the back of their crew.

She’d done the ride plenty of times before, most often to see Isabela off at the port, but now she was terrified of reaching the bottom. Slowly the weather warmed, and the sound of the water became apparent in the distance. The world lit up at one edge, a thin stripe of sunlight to herald the oncoming day.

When they were finally, dreadfully, in the open plane at the bottom of Skyhold, beyond the watchtower that kept them all safe from unwelcome guests, Josephine had to say goodbye. She pulled her horse beside Isabela’s and leaned over to hug her, their legs crushed together between the bulk of the mounts.

“Stay safe,” Isabela whispered to Josephine, fingers turning the dull silver ring on her left hand.

Josephine turned her hand into a fist, wishing she had something meaningful to give Isabela – and then she remembered the pendant that she wore wherever she went. With fingers that shook only a little, Josephine reached her hands up behind her neck and unlatched the gold chain. “Keep this,” Josephine said as she leaned over to fix it around Isabela’s neck, watching as it settled in between her collarbones. “And bring it back to me, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

“Not for too long, my love,” Isabela said, kissing Josephine once more on the cheek before riding out.

Josephine stood there, alone, as they disappeared from view into the remaining darkness. Soon the torches became tiny pinpricks of light, and then they were indistinguishable. When even the sound of their calls no longer reached her, Josephine decided she’d best return the stolen horse and get back to work.

\---

Back at Skyhold proper, Josephine arrived in time to see another lot of soldiers leave. She handed the sweaty mare over to one of them, leaving the poor creature to pull another mountainside walk that morning. Leliana was conversing off to the side with one of her own people, a soldier who faded into the long shadows as soon as Josephine approached.

“When are you leaving?” Josephine asked, feeling her voice come out completely devoid of any emotion. It sounded like an echo, like something someone else had yelled and her lips were just moving in time with the audio.

“In a few moments, I’m afraid,” Leliana gestured at the gathered people behind her. All of the inner circle of the Inquisition were there, prepping their weapons and equipment and mounts. Bull and his Chargers stood at the back of the group, noisily riling themselves up in a way that would have had them reprimanded on any normal day. But it wasn’t a normal day at all.

It didn’t take long for them to leave, too. Josephine said her farewells to them all as they left, pulling Leliana into a tight hug before she mounted her own horse. “Good luck,” she whispered to the woman, holding her by her shoulders to take her all in.

“Like I need it,” Leliana replied, kissing Josephine’s forehead.

Then they, too, were gone.

\---

Everyone Josephine was close to had left go fight Corypheus. She, alone, was the highest ranking member of the Inquisition left behind. Anyone with any minor combat skills had been drafted, trained, and shipped off to bulk up their numbers. What remained was a skeleton crew: a minimal number of soldiers to keep them safe in the off-chance a threat arose; the healers and smiths and stable hands who had no combat training stayed, too; as did the children, the kitchen staff, and the cleaners. Skyhold, often fit to bursting, felt so… empty.

The first few days she spent pacing, anxiously unable to do anything. Time dragged on without a focus, and she kept going up to Leliana’s tower to see if any word had arrived from her or for her. The birds screeched and flapped about, but none had a message to deliver.

After those first days it became a necessity that she stop hoping, just to keep from going mad. Josephine followed a routine to the letter, allowing her mind to lose itself in work rather than focus on the darker places it might stray. She didn’t go seeking out messages, because they would be delivered in due time. She tampered down on the nervous flutter in her heart every time word was sent to her – it was always just another noble, pledging support, never what she really wanted to hear.

She kept to herself, did her job, and when sleep alluded her she re-read the letters Isabela had sent her at sea and tried not to cry.

It was on one such night, as she willed herself to stay strong, that there came a sudden, relentless pouding at her door. They’d been gone for days already, but accounting for the days spent travelling there was no way they could be back already, surely. “Lady Montilyet! Lady Montilyet! Outside, quick – look!” Were it not locked the person out there would have surely been at her side now, dragging her out of her bed to look at – whatever it was they were yelling about.

Josephine was thankful she wasn’t asleep as she got up to unlock the door. The young girl, a worker in the kitchen, raced to her drapes and pulled them open. Outside she had a clear view of the sky that went for miles and miles – and in the distance, she saw it. A green and blue crackling, weaving through the dark clouds that were rapidly disintegrating.

“We saw it standing outside, we saw it! Looked just like the Inquisitor’s mark, big green thing. Do you think they did it?” The girl was bouncing up and down, eyes trained outside on the sky, unable to tear her gaze from it.

Josephine felt herself relax a fraction as the sky cleared, after months. “I think so.” All that was left now was to wait and see who returned.

\---

When morning came, Josephine felt purposeful and it was glorious. She bathed and ate and then headed down to the stables to find a scout. Only a handful of horses remained, from a stable that had been filled to overflowing a mere week ago.

“I need you to ride out and meet the forces. Let us know when to expect their return so we can prepare a feast,” Josephine instructed, even as the young woman started gathering her things ready for the journey. “I will be sending down a crew of soldiers with some of our healers in case they need it. If they have any urgent requirements, get word back to me as soon as possible.”

Within minutes, woman and horse were charging out of the Skyhold gates. Nervous, excited chattering followed her – and when Josephine rallied the healers and soldiers, the enthusiasm grew. The whole place felt alive again, inspired by the clear skies for as far as the eye could see. People approached her and asked, seeking confirmation before they got their hopes up. Josephine couldn’t make promises, not without being there, but she was sure her smile spoke volumes as to her belief.

People approached their jobs with greater fervour. Food was prepared in bulk, all the quarters were cleaned and prepped, extra bedding and chairs were dug out of hiding and cleaned and dusted, spiders forced to find new homes. The Herald’s Rest staff dragged kegs of mead and wine up to the main building, everything from the cheapest Ferelden brew up to expensive Antivan wine. Josephine hadn’t been given a date yet, but she couldn’t stop them all for doing what they could to help out – she knew exactly what it was like to be left behind.

The scout returned in the late afternoon on the third day she’d been away. Breathlessly she’d found her way to Josephine, footsteps echoing in the empty stone hallway. “My lady,” she began, and then inhaled deeply, “they are about two days out of Skyhold. The first group is bringing the deceased for burial, then the rest.”

Josephine’s stomach twisted painfully at the reminder that there were some who left Skyhold and would never return. “Did they give you numbers of deceased?” Josephine asked, holding up her quill to give the impression it was purely work related.

The scout shook her head before elaborating, “I only met the forward party. I can’t say for sure. Someone said a hundred were riding them back – so perhaps that many?”

Josephine wrote _100_ down in fine, looping script, and then dismissed the scout. She broke her own rule to go upstairs to the rookery and check, but there was nothing except lost feathers and bird droppings waiting there for her.

Josephine sighed. Two days, and then she’d know.

\---

Josephine forced herself to help with the preparations around Skyhold so that the two days would pass by as quickly as possible. She scurried about, looking quite out of place in her usual finery, helping prepare the great hall for the celebration. They hung banners from the ceiling, a delicate procedure Josephine was happy to supervise from the ground, and the tables were adorned with woven runners bearing the Inquisition heraldry. She spent hours shining mismatched candle holders, setting them out in such a way that they looked intentionally different. With a knife Josephine whittled down the candles so they were all the same height, and stuck them in place with a blob of melted wax.

Chairs and tables were carried in from anywhere they could be found, places were crowded, and much of the party would spill out the main steps and into the courtyard. It would be impossible to contain them all indoors, and Josephine was glad for the temperate weather – at least by Skyhold standards – which meant it would be possible to comfortably eat outdoors.

Afternoon came on that second day, and an eerie silence descended upon Skyhold. Everything was ready: food was prepared and waiting to be heated and laid on tables; candles were unlit but torches were; and all the work had been done for the day at a frantic pace.

Everyone gathered, as if drawn, by the main gate. Josephine tried to remain aloof standing at the top of the stairs, but it was only so she could see further ahead when the portcullis was raised.

They all spoke in hushed tones, eyes trained on the space their loved ones, their savours, would soon be standing. Children rolled and played together, laughing as if the gravity of the moment was reserved for adults only. Men and women linked hands, waiting for partners and family members to come back to them. There was excitement, but a closely guarded fear on their faces: what if they didn’t come back?

A sound came from outside the gate, a loud horn, and then the gate was being raised. A man rode in, flanked by two other soldiers. The man in front, with a horn slung across his front, was one of the messengers from the base camp – which explained why he looked so fresh in comparison to the soldiers with him. Their bodies were bowed with exhaustion, clothes caked with grime and dried blood.

“The Inquisition forces are returing!” The scout announced, and the two soldiers dismounted to find their loved ones. A man approached one, whilst the other was greeted by his wife and child. Both families embraced tightly, their horses surreptitiously taken away as they did so.

And then a very strange thing happened: people _felt_ in completely unpredictable ways. Some started crying, others laughed; there were those who applauded, whilst more still just stood quietly and waited.

First, horribly, were the bodies of those who had not made it. Josephine knew realistically that this was not all – there were those who wouldn’t have been fit to be returned to Skyhold, too horrific for their families to have that be their last thought. Even still her eyes flittered from bundle to bundle as they were delivered with mournful eyes to their heartbroken families. No one approached her, and it bought her a minor comfort. Those who could stood and prayed, offered their bodies as shoulders to cry on or places to hold on to.

Then the rest of the army arrived. Slowly they trickled in, the faces of their warriors tired but pleased. Those who had no family to return to draped their arms over the shoulders of their companions, and many were welcomed into group hugs by people they barely knew. The sorrow over those lost was not disrespected, but it became a moment of triumph – they had given their lives so that those returning would do so alive and well. The crowd by the gate grew in size as soldiers joined the families and applauded those who came after them, and when the Inquisitor’s party returned the cheering reached an incredible peak.

Lavellan, accompanied by Cullen and Leliana – all of them perfectly, blessedly, alive – rose to the top of the stairway to stand at Josephine’s side. Josephine bowed low to Lavellan as she joined her, and the elven woman wrapped her in a quick, tight hug. Cullen was next and did the same, placing a brotherly kiss to her cheek before he went to stand at Lavellan’s side. Finally Leliana approached, and Josephine ignored correct procedure to lunge at the woman, holding her tighter than she’d ever done before. Leliana laughed, and then Josephine laughed too.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Josephine asked.

Leliana nodded against her shoulder. “Did you expect any less?”

Josephine laughed again, before she remembered that she had still yet to see Isabela walk in. Leliana hadn’t said word from the battlefield as she promised, and all of a sudden that dread reappeared, savage and all-consuming. Just because her corpse had not been bought to Josephine, did not mean it wasn’t somewhere – wrapped in a tent calico or, even worse, buried at the sight of their final battle.

As if predicting her thoughts (Leliana had always been strangely good at that), she lay a hand on Josephine’s cheek. “She’s coming.”

Josephine felt rude turning away from her closest friend, but now that she knew Isabela was alive – alive! – and coming back to her all the tenuous hope she’d had returned at full strength. She went down the stairs a little, going against the wave of soldiers that were headed in to the castle to bathe and eat and celebrate.

She didn’t know why Hawke’s party was nearly the last one to return, but once she saw them Josephine could no longer contain herself. She hitched her skirt and took the stairs two at a time, ducking and weaving through the milling families with a finesse learned in Orlesian ballrooms.

Isabela looked a bit worse for wear – they all did – as she stumbled in, favouring her right leg. A long cut ran from her ear to the corner of her mouth, healed into a scar already by magical means. Josephine tried to be careful, she really, truly, did, but she slammed into Isabela with such force that she had to hold the woman up and against her body.

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Isabela said jokingly, exhaustion hanging off each word.

“It was too long if you ask me,” Josephine answered, not releasing the woman – not even easing her grip.

Isabela hummed an affirmation, and Josephine got the feeling that she was simply too tired to do more than just stand there and let herself be held. So Josephine held her as the sun got lower in the sky, and then the candles were lit upstairs and joyous cheers started spilling out to where they stood.

“Time to eat, yeah, my love?” Isabela said at last, pulling away from Josephine’s arm.

The loss was painful, but Josephine wrapped an arm tightly around Isabela’s waist, the way she had when they first met, and guided her up into the great hall.

Places were saved for them both – one at Hawke’s table, the other with the advisors and inner circle – and per Isabela’s request they sat at the closest empty spot with Hawke. Josephine didn’t say much because Isabela, and everyone else, was very clearly concentrating on eating as much food as they possibly could. Some of them earliest arrivals had already finished eating and were doling out drinks, leading their friends in joyous, invented songs about their victories.

Josephine got the feeling that this was Isabela’s kind of party – she still remembered when the woman almost took her out trying to arm wrestle Bull – and yet she was slumped against Josephine’s side. Josephine lifted her head so she could rest it on top of Isabela’s, pressing kisses to the dirty hair (she’d let it slide just this once – saving the world privilege).

“I hate to miss a good party, but I would rather like to go to bed instead,” Isabela mumbled.

“Bath first, you’re disgusting,” Josephine countered, saying farewells to the people at the table and standing up, pulling Isabela with her.

Isabela snorted. “Save the world and all she does is complain about hygiene. Will I ever be good enough for you, Lady Montilyet?” Her mock-offense fell flat, but Josephine didn’t hold it against her.

It took some time for the pair of them to leave the room, being caught by so many people who wanted to thank them, reminisce with them, drink with them, but they finally succeeded. As soon as the heavy door closed behind them, the noise of the party became muffled and distant, as thought it belonged in a world separate to theirs.

Josephine had someone come up to warm their water, and she carefully undressed Isabela and bathed her. She took time with each injury, secretly pleased to find nothing more than minor, superficial wounds. Nothing major – nothing deadly.

Then they dressed – or Josephine dressed them both – and Isabela dropped into bed like a leaden weight.

“I missed you,” Josephine said as she extinguished a candle at their bedside, but Isabela was already sound asleep.

\---

With the Inquisition’s work done, they disbanded. Josephine tied up all their loose ends, thanked all necessary parties, and then returned to Antiva City. Isabela resumed work for the Montilyet fleet, and Josephine went back to work at their family estate.

Isabela docked from a job Orlais once, months later, with a ring that was so heavy, so inlaid with precious stones, that Josephine couldn’t believe the woman had legitimately acquired it (and still didn’t). Leliana sent a mysterious letter of congratulations for the engagement that arrived mere hours after Isabela had gotten down on her knee on the balcony of their room, overlooking the ocean. The new ring took the place of the old, silver one that Josephine refused to give back or dispose of, against Isabela’s wishes. They had kissed each other – whispering the word _fiancé_ between their lips, shared in their joined breath.

They got married on the beach almost a year later. It had been hard, Isabela coordinating her ships, constantly being in and out of Antiva City. Josephine was less mobile, but still busy. She had contracts to make, alliances to forge, and she spent quite some time travelling to other major cities to meet in person with their trade partners. They managed, though, and it was more perfect that either of them could have planned.

Josephine wore a layered white gown that finished mid-calf, her feet in sandals decorated with delicate white shells, pale white sand coating her toes. Isabela wore her captain finery, a heavy, red velvet coat with glittering gold buttons and simple black leggings. Around her neck was the Montilyet family crest, a pendant Josephine preferred to see on her ( _“you’re family now anyway,”_ she’d explained). On Josephine’s right hand, the weather-worn silver ring Isabela had given her over a year ago. They hadn’t bothered with many other marriage traditions, opting out of the long fanfare and bridal parties. The pair of them had walked up together to their minister – Leliana, unsurprisingly, had that power granted to her by the Chantry – and that was that.

The crowd that watched them wed was small – family members and a select group of friends. It was a small reunion of Inquisition forces and Isabela’s Kirkwall family. They exchanged rings and kissed as the sun set, and then they ate and drank and danced until the sun rose. The world was at peace, and so were they.

It didn’t feel any different, being married. It really wasn’t, if Josephine was honest. Isabela was still off challenging people to ridiculous duels, making inappropriate remarks and finishing them with “Lady Montilyet,” as if that made things any better, and Josephine was still totally, incredibly, _ridiculously_ obsessed with her.


End file.
